A Stance and An Inquiry
by Nate The Ape
Summary: It has been several years since Kong abducted Ann and nearly killed Jack Driscoll. Now his sons ask him a profound, unsettling question: Does his heart contain respect for the ape...or hatred? Plenty of sweetness here.


Well, I decided it might be interesting to write another one-shot sequel type of fic, besides taking a look at how Jack might plausibly view Kong and the relationship he had with his dame after the dust settled. This story takes place about seven-eight years after the events in the movie. See if you can detect an allusion to a certain Stephen King novel in this particular fanfic.

**

* * *

**

**April 12, 1941**

It was always a tricky thing for Jack Driscoll to sneak out of bed. He'd raise the sheets up with his knee, transfer their weight to the heel of his hand, and slither out sideways from underneath-if it was done correctly. Ann was a fairly light sleeper by nature, and the problem of leaving his wife's side was further compounded by the fact that she'd fallen asleep tonight embracing Jack from behind.

Normally, Jack slept just like he worked, deeply and hard. Thank Christ for alarm clocks. But when an idea for a particular scene or act hit him, or he felt that his previous efforts could stand some serious tweaking-like now-, or most importantly and worrisomely had a fast-approaching deadline to make progress by, he couldn't bear to just lie in bed and let the inspiration pass. It demanded to be let out of its prison of bone and black hair, expressed in equally black ink on paper. Otherwise, he'd just lay supine on the mattress, only his green eyes moving as the little singsong voice in his head taunted the playwright with the painful fact that "Jack's not working, Jack's not working."

Fortunately, Jack Driscoll had become accomplished at this after seven years of sharing his bed, and with good reason. It always made him feel awful whenever Ann would wake up in the process, look at him with that dejected, pained expression in her brilliant blue cow's eyes, and softly plead for her husband to stay in bed with her.

He'd also become quite skilled at creeping down the hallway, deliberately placing one foot in front of the other in the manner of a chicken and picking his way past the room where his two sons, Brandon and Franklin slept, and ducking into his study. On reaching it, Jack decided to take up his pen, a pad of paper, and go out onto the topmost balcony of his family's three-story brownstone, where the gaslight street lamps would provide sufficient light to work by.

Carefully, silently shutting the sliding glass door behind him, clad only in his boxer shorts and a rust-colored sleeping robe, Jack folded his legs underneath his lanky body and sat on the cement. Not at all for the first, or even the ten-thousandth time, Jack reflected that it would've been much better if he and Ann had received the fame and fortune that had allowed them to purchase this residence through "honest" work-rather than as a result of being caught up in a 25-foot ape's surprise visit to New York City.

Without really thinking, Jack rubbed his right elbow, where the ball of bone had been spilt in half all those years ago by its impact with the cab's roof. Black Jack, his father would affectionately call him as a boy. Well, God and Jesus Christ both knew that during that terrible chase, this writer had been playing for very high stakes indeed, he uneasily reflected.

But that was in the past, and there was the present to deal with now. "Alright," Jack said thoughtfully to himself as he breathed in, "we'll see how this concept works itself out on paper." His current project was a play that had a first-generation Polish immigrant as its protagonist, risking everything to get his remaining family members out of the now Nazi-occupied country. In one scene, the hero, his brother, two sisters, an aunt, and two uncles, were all hiding in a quarry from the squad of soldiers who were after all of them. Jack hadn't felt that the "mere" searchlights the soldiers were using made the scene suspenseful and threatening enough, so now he was throwing military dogs in as well to up the ante even more for viewers. His editor and producer would very likely enjoy the addition at least.

His pen looped and skittered over the paper, the tip leaving behind black curlicues of ink. Then the quiet, nighttime spring air was lightly torn by the sound of the glass door being tentatively slid open. Startled, Jack whipped around, bracing himself and starting to explain, "Ann darling, I'm sorry for doi-"

The attempt to plead his case died away as Jack saw both his sons nervously standing at the threshold instead, uncertain to what his reaction would be. The boys had skin tones that leaned more towards his than Ann's, along with his thick ebony hair, but had inherited their mother's blue eyes and delicate nose. Somewhat fiercely, Jack told them in a hushed command, "Young men, I want both of you to go _back_ to bed. You especially Franklin, since you have kindergarten to be at tomorrow. I mean it," he firmly added, standing and pointing with a long tanned finger in the direction of their bedroom.

"But Papa, we just want to-" Franklin urged.

Having a pretty good idea of what would come next, Jack shook his head and said in soft annoyance, "Boys, I've told you before that if you need to have some water or use the bathroom, just go do it. You don't have to ask my permission or take pains to be stealthy. Now please do what I say and go back to sleep. It's half past one in the morning for God's sake."

"But we can't sleep Papa," Franklin responded in a plaintive, high tone. "You woke us up when you walked by too, and we wanted to see what you were doing."

_You failed to be quiet enough once again Jack_, he thought with disgusted embarrassment at himself. "I'm flattered that you take an interest in your father's actions, but I'm a grown man who needs much less sleep than you two do," he told them with an exasperation-tinged sigh. "Both of you please, at least go back and lay in your beds for the good Lord's sake, even if you can't fall asleep."

"But we'd like to spend time out here with you Papa," Franklin implored.

"Yeah, it's pretty out here on the balcony," Brandon offered. "Can we stay?" they asked in tandem, blue eyes widening and turning mournful. _Oh Christ, not those eyes, and not two_ _pairs of them!!_ Jack desperately thought. His paternal gruffness and resolve weakened, then slipped, then crashed against the street like melting ice on a roof.

"Fine," he declared in an exhalation of defeat. "No more than twenty minutes though. And don't tell your mother anything about this. Otherwise she'll give me one of her infamous little 'I told you before Jack, this is an example of why you have no authority in this family' lectures," he snorted.

"Thanks Papa!" Franklin said in half-contained delight. "And we do listen to you," he added.

"Yay!" Brandon exclaimed. "We get to stay up!!"

"Shhh!!" their father urgently told them, finger under his Roman nose. "Just close the door slowly so she isn't woken up by that either. She's had a long day of rehearsals, to say nothing of being with child again," he informed his sons, straining for the sounds of feet coming up the stairs even as a part of him pleasurably thought about how the house's nursery would be seeing another occupant in just four months time.

He'd always remember with a mixture of shocked embarrassment and some masculine pride how Franklin had looked at his father when the news had been broken, and then gleefully yelled, "You did it Daddy!" in blunt congratulation. Jack Driscoll had almost wished for a few seconds that the earth would swallow him.

Brandon, with amazing strength and subtlety for a four-year old, slid the glass door shut and joined his brother in walking over and sitting at Jack's side. Smiling warmly, he told his sons, "Even though you both should really be in bed, it's still a joy to have your company," taking Brandon in the crook of one arm, Franklin in the other. Franklin affectionately pressed his head against his father's terry-cloth draped ribs, sending delighted, touched warmth throughout Jack's soul as Brandon giggled and momentarily wrapped his little arms in a hug to express his thanks.

As best he could, Jack picked up his pad of paper and began to brainstorm again, fleshing out the revised scene, although he suspected precious little progress would be made now that the boys were with him. But his sons were well behaved, and they'd learned early on that when their father was hard at work, they should be respectful of him and turn their attentions to their mother or some other distraction.

For a few minutes they just casually watched Jack's long fingers steering his pen in loops and slashes across the white pages with the same sort of half-interest that a cat does when perched at the edge of a goldfish pond. When that became too boring, they both settled their twin weights against his shoulders, thoughtfully regarding what stars they could see through the glare of the city lights and car headlamps and the buildings within their range of vision.

His head pointed towards the left, Franklin pointed at the tallest building in the world, catching Jack's attention as he innocently stated, "That's the Empire State Building, isn't it Papa? Where that very bad thing happened to Mama," he added, eyes darkening with sympathy as the boy suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Yes," Jack whispered distantly, back and stomach muscles clenching. "A very bad thing happened to your mother, and especially to her animal friend right in front of her, and she still feels very upset sometimes about it."

Jack always hated whenever these topics came up, but they inevitably had to be dealt with. When their firstborn son first began to walk and speak nearly seven years ago, and a new brother in his time, he and Ann had hammered out an agreement that gently, honestly, they would reveal to Franklin what had happened to his parents on Skull Island as needed-and why it made his parents behave the way they sometimes did. It would be done in bits and pieces, only addressed whenever an incident directly happened or the child asked a question about something, so as not to cause major complexes or trauma.

After all, there were a lot of things Franklin and Brandon couldn't help but notice. They couldn't help but notice the way that their mother, during a trip to the zoo, would often stop at the ape house and just stare at the occupants with a considered, melancholic expression. They couldn't help but notice that whenever their itinerary would take them near the Empire State Building, Ann would either stop and look for a long time at its spire, or bow her blond head and hurry past, brows knitted in anguish as if she had been dealt a stab wound, often weeping as their father gently tried to comfort Mother and hurry her past.

They couldn't help but notice the scars, some short and ragged, some amazingly long and thin, that crosshatched their father's torso, and how he'd gladly go out of his way to kill any insect or spider he saw, as if his life depended on it. Once, several years ago, it had. They couldn't help but notice how, only for several seconds, their father would become distinctly uneasy and tense whenever he met a black man with _very_ dark skin and a tall frame on the street. They couldn't help but notice how whenever the family went somewhere, people would suddenly pop out to take their pictures or ask questions, and how it often generated such pique in Father. They couldn't help but notice that on family trips to the American Museum, their parents would invariably steer clear of the dinosaur wing, leaving the boys to explore by themselves, and would never even look at the huge new 'stuffed' dinosaur dioramas.

And they sadly couldn't help but notice whenever their mother or father would shatter the night's stillness with a desperate yell or shriek of terror, and the urgent shushing, comfort sounds of the other partner would join in seconds later. That made Jack Driscoll especially distressed and upset. Not only did it badly frighten his children, but the fact that _he_ as the man of the house was having nightmares just made his self-esteem take a nice fast swan dive, and he often worried that it was affecting the amount of respect his sons had for their father too.

"I wish those jerks had never come to hurt Kong with their planes," Franklin proclaimed.

Eyes narrowing, Jack sternly, pointedly demanded, "That's not a nice word Franklin. Where did you hear that?"

Sudden misgiving visiting his features, his son thinly admitted, "I heard it in kindergarten. From Adam Denham."

"What's kindergarten?" Brandon asked.

"Carl's nephew huh?" Jack dryly growled. "The man's taint and nature just can't totally leave us alone, can they," he reflectively said to himself. Suddenly realizing his digression, he gently told Franklin, "For your mother's sake and his Franklin, I wish they'd never come either. And kindergarten is a place where you learn how to color, draw, write, and do other neat things Brandon," he added, keeping up both ends of the conversation.

"Oh. Thanks Papa."

"What do you think about Kong? Do you hate him just like the bad native people Father?" Franklin abruptly asked, looking into his father's eyes with the same sort of soft, cautiously searching inquisitiveness his mother's had exhibited before they kissed in her cabin all those years ago.

It was one that threw Jack for a real loop, and he had no idea how to answer his son's inquiry. He himself had never really been able to come up with a cut and dried response to the question even after all these years. Certainly, Jack felt that the ape hadn't deserved his fate and to die the way he did in the least. And after the trauma of Kong's capture and Ann's rejection had more or less evaporated, it didn't take a Nostrodamus to foresee that the reckless thing Carl had just done could only end in tears for all parties concerned sooner or later back in New York. Kong had also saved Ann five or six times over when he hadn't been able to be there, and Jack knew he was grateful about that in some way.

At the same time, the ape had initially brutalized Ann, terrified and almost killed her. Perhaps even more importantly, on not one but _three_ different occasions, the ape had come within a centimeter of ensuring that Jack Driscoll would never have married or fathered _anybody_. Kong might've grown to love and treasure Ann, but he'd never looked upon the writer with anything other than murderous jealousy, possessiveness, and hatred. It would be quite easy and forgivable for a man to feel a reciprocal set of emotions.

He'd need to take a crack at it for Franklin now though, and sort things out as he went along. "Well," Jack said, leaning back and letting go of both boys as he ran his fingers through his thick pitch hair, "first of all you need to know that Kong was very special to your mother, even though it took me a while to figure out why and how she could feel that way about him. Plus, it seemed to me at the time that she liked an animal in almost the same way that she liked your papa, and that hurt me very much, especially since I'd gone through so many dangerous things to help her."

Franklin nodded. "I remember how Mother said that one time how she'd felt like everyone had lied to her that day, and no one could ever understand how Kong was being hurt by it."

"That's right," Jack said softly, the memory still jabbing his heart. "But I think I finally know why Kong was important to your mother. Do you boys both like tigers, first of all?"

"Yeah, tigers are the best!!" Brandon exclaimed in excitement.

"They're the biggest reason I like going to the circus!" Franklin added merrily.

"Shhh!!! Your mother will wake up!!" Jack told them in an urgent, hushed tone, gesturing with his hands as he tensely looked at the door behind them. Both his sons settled down, and there was no sign as yet that Ann was awake.

"Sorry," Brandon sheepishly said. "We be quiet."

"Anyway," Jack purred on, "imagine if you had a magical tiger as a special friend."

Brandon giggled in delight at the idea as his brother gave an amused smirk that was the spitting image of his own father's.

"Now imagine if this magical tiger could speak to you, and enjoyed playing games with you. And not only that, but this tiger also watched over you while you slept, and got rid of bears, snakes, wild boars, and other jungle animals that tried to hurt you."

"Would the tiger be able to sing to me, and read to me too?" Brandon asked.

"If you wanted it to, sure," Jack said with a good-natured smirk. "But how would you both feel about a tiger that was that much of a friend to you, yet was still a very wild jungle animal?"

Both boys adopted considered expressions for a few moments in the still night air. "I'd be worried sometimes that that tiger could eat me up, but I'd also think he was very majestic and feel safe to have him as my friend," Franklin answered honestly.

"I'd sleep and play with that tiger all day and we'd be the most special friends in the jungle for always," Brandon fantasized. "But his teeth and claws would maybe scare me a little."

Nodding in affirmation-it was a marvel to see how precocious they were-Jack continued, "And as time went on, you'd probably quickly realize that deep down, the tiger wasn't such a bad and scary guy, right?"

"Yeah, the tiger's really a lot like me instead of being mean," Franklin nodded.

"Very good. You're right," the writer told him in approval. "You and the tiger would end up being perfect pals forever, and that's essentially what happened there on that island between Kong and your mother."

"But I want to ask both of you another question," Jack said, moving on to another page of the topic. "How do you know that a person or animal is your friend?"

Franklin thoughtfully touched his jaw with his pointer finger, brooding for a few moments. With a profound candidness, he responded simply, "Because they're very happy to see you, and to be with you, and help you when things go wrong. If you call someone's name and they come to you, then they're one of your friends."

Touched by the wisdom in his eldest son's words, Jack just smiled warmly at him, saying, "I don't think even I could've said that better Franklin. And why does someone even want to be your friend at all?"

"I don't know," a bewildered Brandon said reluctantly.

But Franklin did. "Because they love you," he told his father, turning slightly to look right into Jack's eyes.

"Yes. Yes, they are your pals because they love you and see how wonderful you are inside, just like I do with you two," Jack tenderly, proudly confirmed, dropping his pad and clutching his sons to his chest. Overcome by his feelings and his joy for the moment, he told the tops of their lightly built heads, "I love your mother and _especially _you boys more than anything else in the world you know, love all three of you so much it almost makes me into an idiot."

Franklin's head shot up in surprise. "You can become an idiot if you love somebody hard enough?" he gasped, eyes wide.

"Well, yes and no at the same time," Jack said wryly, lips parting into a crooked grin. "But that's something you'll only be able to appreciate when you're older."

His son just gave him a blank look, and then dismissed his father's odd statement. "Papa," he asked, "would you run through that jungle on the island to save us too?"

"I absolutely would," Jack wholeheartedly responded. "I wouldn't be looking forward to it, but I'd even gladly do it a second time for your mother if I had to. I make it a point to tell her that I love her at least four times a day you know, and I'd give my life to protect the three of you if our family got into trouble."

"You're not going to die soon, are you Daddy?" Brandon fretted, voice and face infused with strained concern.

"Now that I'm back in New York and in the best of health, I don't see that happening to me anytime soon little fella," Jack assured his son, patting the boy's head with a light chuckle. Forcing himself back onto the proper track, the writer went on, "From what I can tell, that ape felt something like that kind of love towards your mother, except it was the kind of love that made him feel happy and loyal towards her, rather than the really beautiful, close kind she and I share, the kind that made us your parents."

Franklin gave a small yawn, and then said evenly, "That's very sweet. It got taken away though, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did," the playwright sighed regretfully, heart packed full of sympathy for his wife. "It wasn't Kong's fault at all though, and certainly not your mother's. And although she felt that way towards me for a while, it wasn't my fault either."

"We don't think you're bad either Papa," Brandon firmly proclaimed.

"Glad you feel that way," Jack said with a smile.

"So since you just said that it wasn't Kong's fault about what happened, does that mean you don't hate him then?" Franklin asked.

Jack Driscoll paused a few moments, two different parts of him straining to grasp the decisive words and give them to his vocal cords. Kong had killed Hayes, thrown him away like garbage with a sickening impact. Kong had roared in pure anguish and despondent rage after Jack had glided off the cliff. Kong had tried to tear the city apart in search of Ann, grabbing, then roughly discarding, innocent blondes. Kong had become totally peaceful after finding Ann again, everything he wanted literally in his grasp. Yes or no.

Jack's mouth parted, worked silently, once, twice. "Not at all boys," he softly whispered. "I don't hate him anymore at all."

"That's good to know," Franklin agreed through a huge yawn, head fighting the pull of gravity.

"I'm so sleepy," Brandon commented, slumping down on his father's lap as his eyelids struggled to stay open.

Charmed, Jack told the two boys, "Well, tell you what. If you two kids are so sleepy now, how about I take you back inside. I'll bring you both to my bed and we can all sleep together till morning." He could already hear Ann saying a few hours from now in an exasperated sigh, _"Jack, you've got to quit spoiling the boys rotten like this,"_ but for once he couldn't care less about it.

"Sounds very nice," Franklin replied, a dopey half-smile on his face.

"Then let's all go," Jack said. Getting to his feet, he grabbed the handle and slid the door back, then returned to tuck the pad and pen into his right armpit. Bringing his strength to bear, he picked up Franklin in one arm. As the boy grabbed onto his father's tanned neck, Jack took up Brandon in the other, supporting his younger son's weight with a broad hand.

Muscles taut, he plodded back to the door's threshold. There, both of his children already asleep, Jack turned a final time, focusing his eyes on the Empire State's monolithic figure standing against the purple night sky. A king and warrior had died there.

"We both loved her so much that we were willing to pay any price for her safety, didn't we?" he whispered in a tone of respectful understanding to ears that hadn't been able to hear for eight years. "You ended up having to pay that ultimate price, while I somehow didn't, even though you would've completely loved it if I had," he said meditatively, only truthfulness and no hint of accusation in that smooth voice.

As he carefully caressed the heavy glass back to its previous position, Jack Driscoll uttered one last phrase, a string of words filled with healing acceptance that came right from the depths of his being. "But I forgive you old man. I forgive you."

* * *

Reviews light up my life! 


End file.
